Anarch

Two: Other Business

‘Enough,’ said the First Lord Executor.

More than forty people were present in the chamber, and all of them had been talking. At his word, most of them stopped: all the regimental commanders, tacticians, adepts and advisors at least. Only the lords general and militant kept going, because they were used to being the senior figures in any room.

As quiet descended, even they trailed off. Someone coughed, uncomfortably.

‘It seems there’s been a misunderstanding,’ said Lord Executor Ibram Gaunt quietly. He sat at the head of the table, the area in front of him stacked with data-slates, folders and strap-bound blocks of Munitorum forms. He was studying one of the data-slates. His long, lean face carried no expression. ‘This isn’t a discussion. Those are orders.’

Gaunt looked at them. Everyone at the table, even the most senior lords, winced. There was still no expression on Gaunt’s face. But no one liked to be fixed by the fierce and cold gaze of his artificial eyes.

‘Go and execute them,’ he said.

Chairs scraped across the etched black stones of the floor. Staff members rose to their feet, and gathered their papers. There was some quick nodding, a few salutes. Murmuring, the personnel left the Collegia Bellum Urdeshi.

Only Adjutant Beltayn remained, perched on a chair by the wall. He clutched data-slates in his lap, and a portable field-vox sat in its canvas carrier at his feet.

‘Me too, sir?’ he asked.

‘Stay,’ said Gaunt.

The four Tempestus Scions assigned to him as body-men stayed too. They closed the hall doors after the departing officers, and took up their stations, silent and rigid, hellguns locked across their broad chests. There was no point dismissing them. They went wherever Gaunt went.

Gaunt had come to consider them as furniture, the dressing of any room he occupied. Sancto and his men were humourless, sullen and unyielding, but that was the product of indoctrinated loyalty, and such loyalty ensured confidence and discretion. Gaunt had been First Lord Executor for little more than three days, but in that time he had learned many things about what his life would be like from now on, and one of those things was that the Scions were simply bodyguard drones. However annoying their constant presence, he could speak freely around them.

Gaunt sat back and steepled his fingers. He could hear the distant crackle of the void shields surrounding the Urdeshic Palace and, more distant, the moan of raid sirens echoing across the city of Eltath. Occasionally, a burst of klaxon welled up from the palace beneath him. A recurring fault, he had been told.

The air in the Collegia smelled of stale cigar smoke and hot wax. The many candles flickered, shimmering the more constant light of the hover­ing lumen globes.

‘What’s done?’ Gaunt asked.

Beltayn rose to his feet, and consulted one of his slates.

‘Called in Militarum reinforcement to Eltath, Zarakppan, Orppus and Azzana. Despatched Lords Kelso and Bulledin to secure the Zarakppan front. Instructed Lord Grizmund to consolidate the south-west line of the Dynastic Claves. Sent Lord Humel to coordinate the liberation of Ghereppan. Brought the war-engine legions up to the ninth parallel. Asked Lord Van Voytz to prepare for the arrival of the Saint–’

Gaunt watched his adjutant read down the list. There was no sign of it ending in the near future.

He raised his hand.

‘That was sort of rhetorical,’ he said.

‘Ah,’ said Beltayn. He lowered the slate. ‘Not clear from context, sir.’

‘My apologies,’ said Gaunt. ‘I was looking for concision. Your answer could have simply been “everything on the day list”, Bel.’

‘Noted, sir,’ said Beltayn. ‘Except–’

‘What?’

‘Well, it’s not everything on the day list. Generals Urienz and Tzara have both requested audience, the Munitorum has a list of queries regarding resupply quotas, an inquisitor called… umm…’ He checked the slate. ‘…Laksheema, Inquisitor Laksheema, has asked for urgent attention–’

‘Concerning?’

‘Unstated. Above my pay grade, sir. There’s also, of course, the other regimental business you asked me to note–’

‘Ah, that,’ said Gaunt.

‘Yes, and also the matter of your staff personnel selection.’

Gaunt sighed.

‘I just need good people,’ he said. ‘Tactical. Communication. Administration. Can’t they be assigned?’

‘I think the feeling is you should appoint them, sir,’ replied Beltayn.

Which meant interviews, evaluations, isometrics. Gaunt sighed again.

‘This is the Astra Militarum,’ he said. ‘People are supposed do what they’re ordered to do. It’s not a personality contest.’

‘There’s a certain… prestige involved, sir,’ said Beltayn. ‘Appointment to the private office of the Lord Executor. It carries… significance. You’re the chosen instrument of the warmaster…’

‘I am,’ said Gaunt. He rose to his feet. ‘I set the rules now. Rule one. People follow orders. I don’t care if it’s front line grunts or lofty staff level Astra Militarum. Do as you’re told. I need a good tacticae core.’

‘Biota seemed willing, sir,’ said Beltayn.

‘Well, he’s very capable. But he’s been Van Voytz’s man since forever.’

‘I think Tactician Biota is eager to distance himself from the lord general since… since the lord general’s disgrace.’

‘Van Voytz is not disgraced.’

‘Well, you know what I mean, sir.’

‘Tell Biota he’s got the job. Tell him to hand pick three… no, two advisors he deems capable.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Tell Urienz and Tzara I’ll see them in an hour.’

‘And this inquisitor?’ asked Beltayn.

‘The inquisitor can go through channels and make the nature of the matter clear. Then I’ll assign time.’

‘Yes, sir. Uhm, I expect you’ll want a staff adjutant assigned too. I mean, I’m happy to fill in for now–’

Gaunt looked at him.

‘You’re my adjutant.’

Beltayn pursed his lips. ‘I’m a company level vox-officer, sir,’ he said. ‘I’m not–’ he gestured at the hall around him, as if the grandeur of it somehow made his point for him.

‘You’re my adjutant,’ Gaunt repeated.

‘Yes, but you’ll be transferring me back to First Company soon,’ said Beltayn. ‘I’m a line trooper. Lord Grizmund did advise about–’

Gaunt looked at Beltayn sharply. He was well aware of the off-the-record conversation he’d had with Grizmund a few hours earlier.

‘You’re not Tanith any more, Ibram,’ Grizmund had said with a sad smile. ‘Your line days are over. Oh, the Tanith will remain in your purview, but the scale has changed.’

‘You remain the commander of the Narmenians,’ Gaunt had replied.

Grizmund had nodded. ‘Yes, but that’s fifteen armoured and ­eighteen infantry regiments. Brigade level. Backbone of my divisional assets numbering seventy thousand men. I don’t ride a tank any more. Nor do you personally command a little recon scout force. Put someone else in the top spot, form up division assets – in your position, you can have a free choice – and put your Ghosts somewhere in the midst of them. They’ll still be yours, but they’re a small part of a much bigger picture. Regimental business is no longer your business, Ibram. Make the break. No sentiment. And make it fast. That’s my honest advice. Take it from me, it’s heartbreaking otherwise. All those years of toil together then you elevate above them. Make the break, and make it fast and clean.’

‘Something awry, sir?’ Beltayn asked.

Gaunt hesitated. He wanted to say it was too much, to confide in his adjutant that there was now so much to consider. The constant dataflow, the push-back from the command staff, the clashing personalities…

But that was an unfair burden to drop on Beltayn. ‘Above his pay grade’, wasn’t that how Beltayn had put it? Gaunt was another breed of creature now.

Rather than reply, he waved his hand at the piles of slates and documents.

‘A lot to process,’ he said.

‘And they don’t listen,’ said Beltayn.

‘Who?’ asked Gaunt.

‘The lords,’ said Beltayn. He looked reluctant to say any more, but then plunged on anyway. ‘It’ll take them a while to get used to the fact you’re above them now. Leap-frogged them all. In my opinion. Just take them a while to get used to taking orders from you.’

‘How long did it take you, Bel?’

Beltayn smiled. ‘I was a common-as-feth slog trooper, sir. I did as I was told right off the bat because otherwise you’d, you know, shoot me and everything.’

Beltayn looked over at the stacked documents.

‘As for that,’ he said. ‘Triage.’

‘Triage? Meaning?’

‘Permission to speak candidly, my lord?’

‘Always.’

‘Most of that, it’s just noise,’ said Beltayn. ‘I’m a field adj, a vox-officer. How do you think I kept my eye on the actual vitals in the thick of it? When it was all going off, and the artillery was coming in, and there was fething las shrieking hither and yon? How did I keep it neat and get you the stuff you needed, no extraneous crap?’

‘Tell me.’

‘Focus. Triage. Data triage. Most of that stuff is only wildfire las whipping around you. Screen it out. Filter it down. Or find someone who can do that for you. Always worked for me.’

‘You ignored things?’

Beltayn shrugged. ‘Only the stuff that didn’t matter, sir.’

‘I’m almost glad I didn’t know this before now.’

‘You’re still alive, aren’t you?’

Gaunt smiled. ‘Judgement call, then?’

‘Always. Works on the ground. Should work for you. I mean, your judgement is what got you that high and mighty rank, right?’

Gaunt nodded. His smile faded.

‘I’ve got ten minutes. I’ll handle that other business now.’

‘The regimental business, sir?’

‘The regimental business,’ said Gaunt.

He was learning things, learning them fast as part of his new role. One was that he could walk and read at the same time.

The Scions flanked him at all times, two in front, two behind. If he stayed aware of the heels of the men in front of him, Gaunt could speed-read data-slates as he strode along, confident that Sancto and his men would steer him around corners, avoid obstacles, and open doors without him even having to look up.

He reviewed the slate again. Disposition reports on the Tanith First, laid out in simple unfussy terms. The main strength of the regiment, under Rawne, was still down at the Tulkar Batteries in the Millgate Quarter, following the brutal repulse of the enemy push three days before. Two companies – V and E – nominally under the command of Captain Daur were billeted in the palace itself, along with the retinue.

For nearly four days, he hadn’t been able to find time to go and see either element in person, not even the section secure in the palace with him.

And just four days before, Ibram Gaunt would not have allowed such an oversight to happen. He’d been colonel-commissar then, and his men had been his only priority.

How things changed. How perspective shifted. Maybe Grizmund had been right. He’d had no reason to lie. Make the break and make it fast. No sentiment. Otherwise it’s heartbreaking.

The trouble was, it was heartbreaking.

As a soldier rose through the ranks of the Imperium, he was obliged to leave many things behind. Gaunt knew that. He’d walked away from the Hyrkans after Balhaut. He wondered if he could ever do the same to the Ghosts.

But it wasn’t the officer in him responding to these things, it was the human being. It was personal, it was sentiment. The feelings made him doubt his suitability for the rank he now held, and he had hidden them from other lords militant for fear of their scorn.

Just a few lines on a report, and they had cut him through. Line items that mattered to him as a man, not as a soldier.

At the Tulkar Batteries, there had been significant losses. He’d reviewed the casualty lists sadly, wearily. It had always been a painful task.

One thing had stood out. Sergeant Mkoll, MIA. Presumed dead. Mkoll, chief of scouts, had always been core to the Ghosts, one of the most able soldiers.

And a good friend.

Gaunt couldn’t believe that Mkoll had finally gone.

Then there was the report, filed by Commissar Fazekiel, of an incident during the evacuation of V and E companies from the Low Keen billet. It made so little sense. Three Ghosts dead, one of them Eszrah ap Niht. Another miserable personal loss.

Gaunt wanted an explanation. The three had died during an incident involving his son.

Except Felyx Chass was, apparently, no longer his son.

And that was the hardest thing of all to understand.

Captain Daur was waiting for him in the anteroom of the private quarters assigned to him. He stood as Gaunt entered with his Scion honour guard, set aside the book he had been reading, and snapped smartly to attention.

Sancto and his men looked at him dubiously.

‘Wait outside,’ Gaunt said. The Scions withdrew. He could feel their reluctance.

‘At ease, Daur,’ Gaunt said.

‘My first opportunity to congratulate you, my lord,’ said Daur.

‘Thank you,’ Gaunt replied. ‘My first opportunity to attend to any regimental matters. My apologies. You’ve been holding the fort, I trust?’

‘Both companies and the retinue are housed in the undercroft, lord,’ said Daur. ‘There are the usual run of issues to deal with. I have them in hand, though Major Baskevyl is very keen to speak to you directly.’

‘About?’

‘Major Kolea, lord. Detained by the Intelligence Service in regards to the assets recovered at the Reach.’

‘I’d heard something about that. I have a hunch that explains why the ordos are sniffing around too. Tell Baskevyl to come up and I’ll get to him as quickly as I can.’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘I need to deal with this first,’ Gaunt said. ‘It’s overdue.’

‘Of course. She’s in there,’ Daur said, gesturing to the inner door.

‘An account, please,’ said Gaunt.

‘I wasn’t present,’ said Daur. ‘Blenner and Meryn were the officers of record at the time. Fazekiel is in charge of the investigation.’

‘And I’m sure she’ll be thorough. A summary, please.’

‘Gendler attacked Felyx in the shower blocks at Low Keen,’ said Daur. ‘The piece of shit… Excuse me, sir. It seems he believed Felyx has access to private funds, and wanted a slice. Jakub Wilder was in on it too. Never liked him either. Too much in the shadow of his war-hero brother… which, by the by, will give you problems as far as the Belladon are concerned. That’s two Wilders deceased under your–’

‘I’m aware, Ban.’

Ban Daur studied his face, frowned slightly, then continued.

‘Gendler attacked Felyx,’ he said. ‘Bungled it. Ezra discovered them, killed Gendler. Wilder killed Ezra. Meryn and Blenner found this total fething lunacy in progress. Witnessed it, for the most part. Blenner executed Wilder on the spot.’

‘And Felyx?’

‘Is your daughter. Merity Chass. She’d been disguising her gender.’

‘Why?’

Daur shrugged. ‘The son of the great hero of Vervunhive stands to advance faster than any daughter? I don’t know, to be honest. Verghast was always damned patriarchal. There’s an issue of honour here, primo­geniture, succession. Shame.’

‘Shame?’

‘Take your pick,’ said Daur.

‘She’s in there?’ Gaunt asked.

Daur nodded. ‘You haven’t asked how she is,’ Daur said.

‘I’m going to find out, Ban,’ replied Gaunt.

‘Do it gently,’ Daur suggested.

‘I’m aware of the sensitivity,’ said Gaunt. ‘Her mother is de facto governor of Verghast. That means F– Merity could succeed in turn. If she acquires enough status here at the front line for the families of Verghast to take her seriously. To return with any disgrace or stain on her reputation would guarantee a lack of confidence from the rival houses, and that would in turn lead to a power struggle and instability on the planet that–’

‘Not that,’ said Daur. ‘I know that. I meant because she’s scared.’

He let himself into the room, closing the door behind him. His bedchamber was a simple space of white-washed stone. There was a folding cot and a wash stand, and his kit bag and effects had been brought up by an attendant and piled in the corner. A freshly laundered uniform had been laid out on the cot. Items had been ordered up from the Munitorum stores: black trousers with dark silk piping and a black pelisse jacket with black frogging. Gaunt had been very specific about a lack of ostentation. He wondered if the clothes would fit.

A side door led through to the small tower room that served as a study. Merity was sitting at the desk under the window. She looked small, dressed in the simple black fatigues of a Tanith trooper. When she turned to face him, he saw, despite her close-cropped hair, how much like her mother she truly looked.

She rose to her feet, and stood like a soldier on review. Her face was pinched-pale, and there was a clean field-dressing on her forehead.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry this has occurred.’

‘Sir.’

‘I’m sorry you… you felt compelled to conceal your real identity from me.’

‘Females do not advance on Verghast,’ she said. ‘Coming here was a chance to achieve some credibility. Some capital that rendered my gender irrelevant.’

‘I thought coming here was about finding your father?’ said Gaunt.

‘I found him,’ Merity said. ‘He was a soldier. Occupied with the war. He was not family-minded, nor do I blame him for that. I never expected a happy family reunion. I saw only political gain.’

‘Really?’

Her face remained hard-set.

‘Who knew?’ he asked.

‘Only Maddalena. Then Dalin and Ludd.’

‘Both of them?’

‘I swore them to secrecy. They both honoured that.’

‘You could have told me,’ said Gaunt.

She half-shrugged. ‘Not really,’ she said.

‘We could talk about it.’

‘I apologise for the problems I’ve caused. I expect to be returning to Verghast as soon as circumstances allow.’

‘We could talk about it now, I mean.’

‘You have time?’

‘I have… ten minutes or so.’

‘Ten minutes of the Lord Executor’s time. I’m honoured.’

‘I didn’t–’

‘I wasn’t being sarcastic. I’m impressed you’re even here. Honestly, I don’t want to talk about it. About any of it. I’d rather–’

‘What?’

‘No one’s really talked to me about anything for the last four days. Commissar Fazekiel has been very sensitive in her questions. But I’d rather talk about… well, absolutely anything else.’

Gaunt took a seat.

‘Like what?’

‘This war, maybe?’

‘This war?’ he echoed. He gestured to the desk chair and she sat back down.

‘I have been shut in here for three days,’ said Merity. ‘I know nothing about anything. I’m hoping for distraction, I suppose. You have been named Lord Executor?’

‘I have,’ said Gaunt.

‘Which makes you warmaster elect. Second only to Lord Macaroth. His–’

‘Fixer,’ said Gaunt.

She looked surprised.

‘You’re not pleased at the promotion?’

‘It’s a huge honour, and unexpected,’ said Gaunt. ‘But I’m not a fool. Macaroth is a private man, and his detachment from staff business has become a chronic problem. I’m supposed to bridge that gap, become his mouth. I’ve no illusions. A fair amount of dirty work will come with the role. Most of it political.’

‘You must learn the art of delegation,’ she said.

‘You’re not the first person to tell me that today.’ He smiled.

‘The Munitorum, the Administratum, the Officio Tacticae and the Office of the Militarum exist to take ninety per cent of that burden off your desk. Leaving you only with the command effect decisions. A warmaster elect can surely establish his own cabinet to filter and process information, just as a secretarial cabinet of the Administratum would–’

He raised an eyebrow.

‘I had no idea you were so well-versed,’ he said.

‘Only in terms of civil administration,’ she replied. ‘I didn’t mean to speak out of turn.’

‘Please do,’ said Gaunt. ‘We’re only having a conversation.’

‘I was raised as the heir of House Chass,’ she said. ‘Civic Administration was considered a fundamental skill-set, so my primary at Vervun Didact was administrative proceeding. My mother believed any scion of House Chass needed a full grounding in housekeeping, and I say “house” in the fuller sense of the dynasty itself. I had begun to broker those qualifications into a placement with the Verghast-Vervun Munitorum as a way to acquire some military credentials. Then a more direct path appeared.’

‘Coming here?’ asked Gaunt.

‘Coming here,’ she agreed. ‘Clearly, now, an idiotic plan. But the rivals of House Chass, House Anko, for instance, barely tolerate my ­mother’s seniority. To accommodate, when the time came, a second female successor… well, that successor would need exemplary credentials. Significant military experience, of any sort. And even then–’

‘You’re ambitious?’

Merity stared at him.

‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘Like my mother. Like my father.’

‘I don’t know how ambitious your father is,’ he said.

‘It doesn’t really matter, does it?’ she replied. ‘Given the lofty position he now finds himself in.’

There was a long silence.

‘Is Sek defeated?’ she asked. ‘The raids have subsided.’

‘That is the question,’ said Gaunt. ‘The assaults on Eltath and Zarak­ppan have been repulsed for now, but there is considerable enemy activity in the surrounding zones. Fresh assault could begin at any time. Our forces under the Beati have dealt the Archenemy a considerable blow at Ghereppan. In fact, we don’t know how badly the Saint has hurt Sek. He may even be dead. Certainly his death, or serious incapacity, could explain the sudden collapse of the assaults at Eltath. Then again, he could be regrouping. Intel operations are in progress. The next few days will show us. Either we’re approaching the final battle with the Anarch’s forces, or we’re facing a long suppression and purge of surviving enemy elements. Whichever, Urdesh is far from won.’

‘Why do you believe he could be regrouping?’ she asked.

Gaunt paused, then allowed himself a small smile.

‘That’s the question I keep asking,’ he said. ‘Sek could be wounded and running, or even dead. But the nature of his breakaway in Eltath has… I just have a feeling about it. It didn’t feel to me like a burn-out. Like an assault that had lost momentum. It felt like a deliberate cessation. As if some objective, unknown to us, had been achieved. The halt was deliberate, as though a phase was over. We don’t know what the next phase is.’

‘But you have suspicions?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Concerning?’

‘That, I’m afraid, is entirely classified. I’m sorry.’

‘Of course,’ she said, dismissively. ‘Though I wager it connects to the materials recovered during the Salvation’s Reach operation.’

‘I couldn’t comment,’ said Gaunt. ‘But I am impressed by your appreciation of the circumstances.’

‘I was there, at the Reach.’

‘You were.’

‘Do others share your appraisal? Other lords, I mean? Macaroth himself?’

‘There is some dispute,’ said Gaunt. ‘At staff level, there is seldom consensus. I’m going to have to work hard to keep everyone who matters convinced of the critical danger we may be facing.’

‘You don’t have to convince anyone,’ she said. ‘You are Lord Executor. If you believe there’s a present danger, you order them to fall in line. They are obliged. Isn’t that the point of a Lord Executor?’

‘You would think so,’ he agreed. ‘In practice…’

He shrugged.

‘This is the Imperial Guard,’ he said. ‘Orders are supposed to be orders, not points of debate. I fear the problem is that there are too many chiefs here. Too much authority, concentrated in one place.’

‘And you’re an unknown factor. Untested. They’re not used to your supreme authority.’

‘There’s that,’ he agreed.

‘Then you should exercise it. Demonstrate it. Make an example of someone.’

‘I don’t think–’

‘Before everything else, you were a commissar. You need a little of that, perhaps.’

He nodded. ‘Perhaps so.’

‘What about Van Voytz?’ she asked.

‘What about him?’

‘He is disgraced,’ she said.

‘Who told you that?’

She winced. ‘Your adjutant mentioned–’

‘Beltayn’s wrong,’ Gaunt said gently. ‘Van Voytz took action he deemed was right for the crusade. It was misguided. He has been reprimanded.’

‘But not disgraced. Have you sent him away to some fourth tier duty?’

‘No. I thought it better to keep him at hand. Punishment sometimes sends the wrong message. I’ve taken the Fifth Army off him for my own division, and charged him with preparation for the Saint’s arrival.’

‘Is that…’ she paused. ‘With respect, is that wise? His insubordination was a slim legal definition away from treason. The two of you were close, in times past. Could this not be read as you going easy on an old ally?’

‘Where making an example of him would demonstrate my authority shows no one favours?’ he asked.

Merity nodded.

‘I was a commissar, as you said,’ said Gaunt, ‘then a line officer too. My whole career, I have tried to temper the ruthlessness of the former role with the consideration of the other. A balance. To be unswervingly strict when necessary, but also not to make enemies needlessly. There are more than enough of those in this galaxy as it is.’

‘Yet you are, in fact, neither of those things now,’ she said. ‘You are First Lord Executor. You don’t need to make enemies or friends.’

He looked at her quizzically.

‘Have I amused you, sir?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he said.

‘I was just talking,’ she said. ‘Chattering, I suppose. I have felt very isolated. I am…’

‘What?’

‘I am sorry they died. Ezra, and even those men.’

Gaunt was about to respond when someone knocked hard at the outer door. It opened.

‘My lord?’ Sancto called.

Gaunt rose, and motioned Merity to stay. He walked through the bedchamber. The Scion Sancto stood in the doorway, Beltayn hovering behind him.

‘I told him you were busy,’ Beltayn said.

‘Be quiet,’ Sancto said to Beltayn, sidelong. He looked at Gaunt. ‘Inquisitor Laksheema requests immediate audience, my lord,’ he said.

‘Inquisitor Laksheema was instructed to go through channels,’ said Gaunt.

Sancto didn’t reply, as if his part in the entire exchange was complete. Behind him, Beltayn grimaced.

‘I think this is her idea of going through channels, sir,’ he said.

Gaunt pushed past them. The inquisitor awaited him in the outer room, flanked by Colonel Grae of the Intelligence Service and members of Laksheema’s retinue. Ban Daur was standing in the corner of the room, glaring at Laksheema.

Behind Laksheema, in the doorway, stood Viktor Hark and Gol Kolea.

‘Lord Executor,’ said Laksheema, nodding her head in a quick bow of deference.

‘What’s this about?’ Gaunt growled.